Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
She comes closer to me. Her lips tug into a smile. “The fact is, your uncle and I can never bow to you while that Russian bitch is your wife. If you want to make things right, divorce her. That’ll make all this go away.”
It doesn’t make sense. Her hatred of Lena seems bizarre. It’s frustrating that I went against our deal—but that’s on me, not on my wife. “If you talk about her that way again, I’ll strangle you. That would solve most of my problems.”
“Only half of them. And like your brother, Garen’s vindictive.”
“I could take my chances. You’re the brains. But I don’t want that to happen. We can solve this now and both our sides of the family can reunite. Everyone will profit. We’ll be stronger.”
“You’ll still be married to the Russian bitch. It isn’t going to happen.” She comes even closer, her voice lowering. It forces me to lean toward her. We’re alone and standing barely six inches apart now. “Here’s the thing about war. Sometimes, you only win if you do something risky.”
Before I know what’s happening, Sona lets out a snarl and rips something from her little clutch purse. I stare in shock as she lunges at me, closing the minuscule distance, a knife jabbing at my heart.
I jerk to the side. Sona’s smaller and older than me, and she’s not that fast. But there wasn’t much ground to cover. The blade misses my heart and sinks into my shoulder, dragging across bone. Agony blooms and I grunt at a sudden burst of pain.
If I were a little slower, if she were a little better—
I’d be dead right now.
All because I wanted to talk.
Fucking Tigran’s going to have a field day with this.
“Die, you fucking—” She rips the knife out and rears back to stab me again. This time, I slam a fist into her face, cracking her jaw back, and kick her hard in the stomach. She topples away and hits the ground, the knife falling from her fingers as she sprawls in a tangle of her fancy fucking dress on the floor.
“What the hell is going on?”
I turn to find the bald manager. He looks from Sona to me, and his eyes go wide. Blood’s seeping down my arm and dripping to the floor.
“I’ll fucking kill you next time,” Sona yells as I shove past the man. I snap my mask back into place. I’m bleeding all over my shirt and pants as I hurry back through the kitchen.
This was an absolute massive fuck-up.
I got stabbed by my goddamn sixty-year-old aunt.
Fuck, I’m going to be hearing this one until the day I die. Which might be soon, considering how badly I’m bleeding.
“You got my tips yet?” the dish boy shouts as I pass him. I pause to toss a few dollars from my back pocket in his direction.
“When they come looking for me, tell them I went out the other way.”
He stares at the wad of cash. “You fucking for real?” His eyes go wide when he realizes how much is there. “Yeah, okay, sure, you crazy bastard. Hey, are you bleeding?”
I keep going. Maybe the kid lies and buys me some time and maybe he doesn’t. Either way, I need to hurry. Hotel security’s going to be looking for me in a couple of minutes.
Last thing I need is to get arrested by some cheap fucking rent-a-cops.
I grab a towel on my way back out and jam it against my wound. It pulses with each step and I’m gritting my teeth as I speed walk back through the hotel. God, this is mortifying. I’m tempted to go back and stomp on Aunt Sona’s fucking skull.
But getting caught and spending my life in jail would be counterproductive.
Tigran’s sitting in the lobby bar looking bored and drinking a beer when I approach.
“Time to go.”
He turns to me and lets out a sigh. “What happened?”
“Sona stabbed me.”
“She… fucking what?” His eyebrows raise, and he’s trying not to grin.
“Come on, you asshole.” I grind my jaw and storm away, chased by his amused laughter. I’m more embarrassed than goddamn injured. Never going to live this down. “I need to get fucking stitches.”
Chapter 21
Lena
It’s late when I hear voices down the hall.
I get out of bed and look blearily at the clock. A little past midnight. I bundle myself in a sweater and a pair of sweatpants and sneak out of my room. The voices are coming from downstairs. I linger at the top of the steps and listen briefly.
I recognize Tigran’s voice. “…wearing this awful caterer’s outfit and he thinks this stupid surgical mask is going to hide his identity. You know, like when Superman puts on a suit and glasses and suddenly nobody knows who he is?”
“That’s the patron. Superman all the way.” I don’t know this voice.